Chairs & Secrets
by JennoftheGlenn
Summary: Established Jollock relationship - in the realm of "John's Interludes for Three." The drama of the chairs continues, with the revelations of secrets. Chapter 1, total Sherlolly.


_Hello, my darlings. I have a little sweetie for you all._

_Within the realm of my rather lengthy "John's Interludes for Three," but all you really have to know about it is that John, Sherlock and Molly are involved in a still new, but growing, loving, caring, generally angst-free three-way relationship which is sexual all the way around and every which way. Ahaha. _

_That's all you need to know to enjoy the following. _

_Oh, and that John and Sherlock have developed a funny little habit of sitting in John's chair together._

_Three or four shorter chapters, I think . . . _

_**Chairs & Secrets –I **_

_**Molly & Sherlock**_

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He was sitting in his chair, he found, fingers steepled just below his lower lip, his body slumped low in the seat, his legs straight in front of him, elbows evenly at his side. How long had he been sitting like this? He couldn't tell.

"John?" he called. There was no answer. "Molly?" he tried again. No one.

Without moving a muscle he gauged the light coming in through the window and judged it to be approximately 3 in the afternoon. His scan of the room, and the light brought his attention to a glint of deep golden sparkle coming off of one of his fingers, and he lowered his hand to look at the ring he wore (Birthday Holiday III, J'sIfor3). He smiled and rubbed it with the fingers of his opposite hand. He took it off and examined the three stones inside for a moment. Jade, Moonstone and Sapphire. _._ How on earth had he fallen so desperately? He smiled. _So perfectly, or so wonderfully, _he amended his question. Then he heard the street door slam.

It all became clear to him in an instant. Now he remembered that Molly was to come home early this afternoon. Why? Oh, some unintelligible scheduling affair at the hospital - he'd deleted it as soon as she or John had explained it to him. All he knew was that his afternoon's customary loneliness was to end early today, and after reading several journal articles and binning several rotten experiments, he'd sat down at approximately one in the afternoon to have a long and proper think about the last case and what had gone wrong_. _

_Impetuosity. Haste. Arrogance._ How he hated the last of the three words. But he had to acknowledge that had he only _oh for godssake _listened to John in the first place, had he done that, just that, the case would have been solved three days earlier. _Three whole days. _Then he had to acknowledge, at least to himself, that John had tried to point out an incorrect assumption that Sherlock was making again and again about one of the suspects in the case. Yes, it was true, just because a cabbie often arrived home in the afternoons between 4 and 5:30, didn't mean that he or she _always_ arrived home in the afternoons at said times. Perhaps he was overly suspicious of cabbies these days? And if he had only _oh dear god _listened once to John, if he had only listened to one of John's – _I will never live this down, he will never let me. I will try to be – better. I will try to – to what? How on earth can I be better than I am? _

_Arrogance._

_Oh fuck._

Molly's step on the stair.

_I will though. I will try to be better, I will try to – oh my god – listen to John more carefully – I already listen to everything he says – I just didn't _absorb_ his comments carefully enough, I need to absorb him more carefully. Hmmhmm. Yes. I must absorb John more carefully. Hmmhmm. _The last few moments of Sherlock's reverie made him chuckle to himself.

"What's funny?" Molly asked, already in the door, smiling at him. Sherlock smiled sideways.

"Oh, nothing," he said and without moving a single extra facial or neck muscle he lifted a hand to make a dismissive gesture. "I was just thinking about what an idiot I was with John on the last case."

"How enlightened of you," Molly beamed at him, still holding a bag of take-away for three from the local Chinese restaurant. "Let me – " she gestured to the bag, and made for the kitchen.

"Yes of course." With thorough economy of movement, Sherlock returned to his former pose, fingers almost prayerful below his lower lip, legs straight in front of him. _All right. Absorb John more carefully. _Sherlock catalogued John's tones of voice when he was trying to warn him of something.

"Now you're smiling. What is it?" Molly was at his side taking off her jacket and cardigan.

"Nothing, love," Sherlock looked up at her and gently touched her hip with his hand. "You look lovely."

"Hmm. Yes, fresh as a daisy. It's been a day." Molly heaved a sigh that told of a day's worth of exasperations, but which seemed contented nonetheless.

"Come," he said simply, and gently pulled Molly down onto him. She sank down into his lap easily. They smiled into one another's faces, and their arms, hands and fingers moved to hold and caress one another. Molly traced the outline of one of Sherlock's ears, and Sherlock gathered the fingers of one of Molly's hands in his own and brought them to his lips, gently kissing them. They couldn't keep from smiling as they sat this way for some moments.

"Different, this. Me in your lap instead of you in John's," Molly ventured, hoping to get Sherlock talking.

"Mmm, concerned? Not jealous, are you?"

"I love it. Oh, you're so in love with one another, it's dear to see. Wish I could watch for a while, but I always seem to disturb you."

"Oh, I see. Well - ."

"What – is it all about? If I may ask, that is – you don't mind?"

"Of course not."

"How did it – become a thing?"

Sherlock stretched a bit, closed his eyes and cast his mind back a few months to that first time (Thames IV, the big scene, J'sIfor3) that John had invited, or perhaps commanded him to sit in his lap. He pressed Molly's hand to his lips, then held it to his chest.

"It began – remember when we were trying to get John to – take more command of me?" (Kissing John, Molly's home/J'sIfor3).

"Oh, yes."

"It evolved out of that. We were at home alone that first time, and he was sitting in the chair. He, um - uncrossed his legs, and – hmmhmm, how did he say it that first time? He was trying to be commanding, but – didn't understand that he didn't have to be. He said, oh, something along the lines of, 'Sherlock, come sit in my lap.' Something very simple."

Molly and Sherlock exchanged their familiar wanton looks with one another. Molly licked her lips, hoping Sherlock would continue, and he didn't disappoint her.

"It was at that time that John was – trying to be more - physical with me."

"Yes, oh, yes," Molly's face was getting a little flushed, Sherlock couldn't help but notice. He let his hand run somewhat absently from her hip down her leg and up again, circling on her backside, gripping her a little.

"He works so hard at us, he still does. All of us," said Sherlock.

"Yes, he does. But – what is it – for you – sitting in the chair together? For you, and for both of you?"

"Hmm," Sherlock paused and thought about it. "I suppose it's a kind of non-sexual excuse for physical closeness. But it would be cheating a bit to say non-sexual, it's quite – tantilizing after a while. But we – talk, you know."

"Yes?" Molly didn't often press, but Sherlock saw it was quite exciting for her to be here, in his lap, hearing about his and John's habit of holding one another in John's chair. He knew she had always been curious about it, if not a bit jealous.

"Yes. We talk. You – want to know what about?"

"If you - ."

"Yes, of course. Well. John wanted to know about the chair, you know, _his_ chair."

"Nana's chair, yes he told me."

"Oh, so you know -."

"No, no – go on."

_Ah, _thought Sherlock, _more, she wants more. Always going deeper, the heart of the matter. What an interesting woman. Never satisfied with the surface explanation._

"What does John say it's - ."

"He doesn't. Please - ?" Molly's face was pink and her eyes were huge with anticipation. _So lovely. Mustn't disappoint her. _

"Hmmhmm. All right." Sherlock paused to think about it again. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps it's a bit of – I don't mean to suggest that I think John is very much older than we – but we all know that – well - ." He paused again, so hard, so hard to say the words. "We all seem to agree that I – can be – rather childish at times."

"Yes?" Molly was rapt.

"And I think we all agree that John is – rather a grounding force for – well for the two of us?"

"Yes?"

"Yes. So – between us – between me and John, it's a rather as though – well as though - ."

"Surrogate parent/child relationship."

"Yes. But nothing – ah – bizarre. He was asking – about my – childhood, and I think you know I don't like to – particularly - ."

"No, I know."

"But I was ready to – tell him some things – _and_ you – I assured him, or at least I hope it's understood that whatever I say to him he may say to you. And the other way around as well, yes?"

Molly's smile was all the answer he got at that moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gently drew him to her, their lips meeting in a light kiss, then a deeper and even deeper one. He smiled as he felt her pulling away from him. _More, she wants more, greedy lovely Molly._

"He says your name. Over and over."

"Yes," Sherlock smiled. Could he tell her? Why not? "Well, Molly, my dear love, I'll tell you since you're so keen. When I was – a baby – I was quite – well – you might imagine I was conscious of myself rather early on - ."

"Yes, of course."

"Um. No one – no one really – Ahaha. Well Mycroft once in a while, and very rarely, Nana, but she was already getting on, and my nursery was far away from her rooms on the first floor - ."

"Yes?" Molly's eyes were filling with pity and worry. Well, never mind, it's time to say it, he'd almost said it all already, anyway. (Kissing John, J'sIfor3)

"Aghm. Yes, no one really ever – touched me – when I was small. The nanny. She changed me, I suppose. What were their names? A string of ever changing girls. I don't remember. But, I don't remember – my mother holding me. There are pictures. You know, at Christmas. But I have no memory of it. And my father – Ahaha." Sherlock looked to Molly to see her expression change. Pity and worry were replaced by a fierceness, a protective, motherly expression. She slipped her arms around him again, and without kissing him, she gripped him to her, hard.

"I think it's a psychologically reassuring thing – to have your name said to you – as a child." Sherlcok drank in Molly's strong grip on him, it was warm and comforting. "Ah, love, it's all right. You have me now, both of you," Sherlock promised her.

"Yes," Molly breathed in response. "Both of us. Always." As she pulled away, Sherlock saw that Molly's eyes were smiling, finally, reassured.

"In my life," Sherlock began, stroking Molly's jaw line with his finger tips. "I've only ever been handled. You. You and John - you touch me. _Darling._" He leaned in again and pressed his smiling lips to hers. When they broke away from one another, he tried to make a joke.

"Anyway that's all so long ago. I've worked through it all. You see? I blame it all on Mycroft!"

Molly and Sherlock laughed, and then relaxed again, gently holding one another, softly caressing an arm, a throat, a cheek. At length Sherlock unbuttoned Molly's trousers, and unzipped them. Silently, their eyes locked, the two adjusted their bodies against one another as they pulled the garment off her, and dropped it on the floor, and then her pants as well. As Molly settled back into Sherlock's lap, she felt his hands roaming eagerly over her thigh and hip, gently pressing the tips of his fingers against the cleft of her backside. The pair continued to smile into one another's faces as Molly slowly undid the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, and at length, Sherlock did the same with hers. When Molly was naked, and lay in Sherlock's lap with only her socks on she spoke again.

"Is it still non-sexual when you're naked in John's lap?" She asked, adjusting herself to better show off her lovely breasts, make them more available to Sherlock's hands, and Sherlock found himself quite absorbed with them.

"Hmm. No. Well, yes. That is. We've never – actually had sex in the chair. But things have – ah – escalated. We moved to the bedroom. (Honeymoon's Over? II J'sIfor3)" He gently parted her legs by lifting one of them and setting her foot down on the floor, effectively opening her up, but his hands only skimmed over her, lightly touching her abdomen, her inner thigh, her sex. "I suppose it's a moment of – private worship? Worship is a loaded word. Appreciation, certainly." Sherlock's voice was getting hoarse as he continued to explore with his fingertips and eyes Molly's body in the dim light of the flat. "And – it's an opportunity for secrets to be revealed." Sherlock leaned down to gently kiss one of Molly's nipples, and she let her head fall back as he lifted her a little way to his mouth.

"Mmm, yes," she said, "secrets." One of Molly's hands was in Sherlock's curls, and she let the other fall off the chair and hang limply, enjoying his hands on her, his mouth. She noted the movement of his lips and tongue from one nipple to the other, and then downward, leaving little kisses in a line straight down her chest and abdomen as he lifted her body to his mouth, and rearranged her somewhat to kiss her where he wanted to, lower and lower.

"Mmm, maybe this chair is different?" She husked.

"How?" Sherlock asked as his smiling lips gently and only lightly brushed the hair of her sex.

"Dunno." Molly said, and she opened her legs wider, as her torso leaned over the arm of the chair, her head dangling in space. She felt Sherlock's fingers softly brushing the lips between her legs, tenderly, almost surreptitiously moving the folds apart as his breath tickled her between her legs. When two of his fingers plunged deep into her without warning she let out a deep and satisfied sigh of desire. Both of her hands were floating in space now and she felt quite safe from falling with Sherlock's arm firmly around her waist and most of her weight in his lap or on the arm of the chair. She pressed her hips forward against his hand as he thrust firmly but slowly into her, then she felt his tongue on her, flicking back and forth against her.

Sherlock loved and appreciated Molly's abandon whenever they were together like this. She was able to completely give over to him, it was delicious. Almost as delicious as John's continued shyness with him. He didn't know which he preferred, he really didn't.

He took her clit between his teeth and gently let Molly feel their sharpness, their ability to do harm, at the same time his unwillingness to do it. She moaned satisfactorily. He noted that she began to grind her hips against his hand less languidly, with more purpose.

"Here? Like this?" he asked. Molly said nothing, but only continued to grind her hips and moan, and he had his answer. He pressed his mouth deeply between her legs, humming, and removed his hand, pressing his soaking fingers lower, seeking out her tighter opening, pressing in gently at first.

"Oh, _god_!" Molly breathed and her hips began to move more quickly, thrusting hard against Sherlock's tongue and teeth. His fingers now thrusting deeply in and out of her backside were both distracting and humiliating. _Why, then, did it feel so wonderfully good?_ She wondered as she hit a plateau.

"Close," she whispered and was gone in only a few more strokes of Sherlock's tongue and fingers. She cried out and quaked against his mouth, and remained leaning over the chair, as Sherlock continued to kiss and suck her sex. He released her waist and pressed his hand along her flank, her breasts, taking in the perfection of her smooth skin as she recovered. At length, she was able to sit up again, with a little help from Sherlock, and they smiled at one another.

"Yes, my chair is different, it would seem." said Sherlock.

"Very, very different," Molly undid the button to Sherlock's trousers, but he took her hands in his. "What is it?" she looked up at him, surprised.

"If we wait a little while, we can surprise John. If you like."

"Mmm, all right," Molly agreed, "That will be – interesting. Can you wait?"

Sherlock only smiled and nodded.

"The way that he and I surprise you, sometimes? Sitting in a chair?" Molly asked, interested.

"Yes," Sherlock pulled her to him, held her close, rubbed her back to keep her warm, while she remained naked in his arms. "I can't tell you how much I love it when you do it, when I walk in on you doing – that – (Preferences). It's very moving for me."

"I know. We both do, love. We adore doing it for you."

"Yes," Sherlock kissed her, then made to get up from the chair. "Let me wash my hands, love, hmm?" Molly allowed it, and curled up in the leather chair, cold and naked in her socks. When Sherlock returned he wore only his dressing gown and he brought Molly's red silk one, as well. She put it on gratefully and settled back into Sherlock's lap.

"What shall we do 'til John comes?" Sherlock asked, kissing some of Molly's fingertips.

"Hmm? I don't know. You have something in mind?" Molly asked.

"Tell secrets?" Sherlock looked at Molly, testing whether or not she was ready to tell some of her own. When he saw in her eyes that she was not, he reverted to his plan 'B,' namely, to tell one of his.

"Secrets?" Molly asked. "What kind?"

"Well," Sherlock began, "I'll start by asking a question – if you don't mind?" Sherlock smiled to himself knowing Molly thought he was going to pry and try get her to tell things about herself.

"N-no, not at all," she stammered. She was a little guarded, and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk as he formed his question.

"Do you – hmm, that is – are you -, ah, quite satisfied? With me? Aghm, in bed?"

Molly paused, a look of confusion on her face.

"Ahaha. You're joking. You're making fun of me." Molly smiled indulgently, not at all angry.

"Only a little, really," Sherlock conceded. "I must admit I presumed that you were – satisfied. Your reactions to my – attention – certainly seemed to indicate - ."

"Uh-huh, yes. You presumed correctly. What are you talking about?" Molly had worked one of her hands into his dressing gown, and was petting his chest.

"Well, perhaps you'll be interested to know that I have had very little with which to compare – our – bedtime."

Molly narrowed her eyes.

"John said you'd had – lots of experience. _You_ said it, as well."

"Mmm, men. Much easier. You know, clubs - ah, toilets."

"Oh," Molly let the vowel rise and fall. "No women?"

"Mmm. Yes – but only - ." Sherlock hesitated, his eyes averted, blushing, smiling, a 13-year-old boy again.

"What? Oh, you have to tell me now," Molly gripped the back of his neck with her hand.

"Well, four."

"Four!" Molly sat up and dug an elbow into Sherlock's lap.

"Ah! Molly!"

"Sorry! Four!? I'm number _five_?"

"Ow, yes, yes I suppose you are." Sherlock smiled into Molly's face which was now filled with a sort of wonder, and whose eyes now looked at him a little differently. He knew her surprise would wear off, however, and she would remember he was the same person he was a moment ago, before he told her this enticing little tidbit. Molly pursed her lips together and lowered her eyes, she worried a bit of the hem of her sleeve with her finger tips.

"And the gentlmen?" Molly saw Sherlock hesitate. "But you don't have to say anything if you don't -."

"No, no, I'll tell you – ah, quite a few. Actually, I don't know the exact number."

"You're one of a number of men who have told me such rubbish. I don't believe it. You and John, both."

"I think it's quite common. For men – you know, to stop counting – after – well – after - ." Sherlock reverted to a teen again.

"Oh, for godssake!" Molly pushed at his shoulder with her hand and Sherlock laughed.

"I stopped counting after 150. But, I must tell you I'm fairly certain I got past 200."

"Good lord." Molly paused, for a moment. "But John said - you never - ."

"Oh, yes, John. Mmm. When John and I lived here together I had been abstemious for years. It made me much happier than I had been. And the clubs were also a contributing factor to my drug use. The work, at that time, was all I needed. And John's – friendship. It was – one of the happiest times of my life."

Molly drew closer to Sherlock again, her arms around his neck, and held him close, rubbing his back. She felt her brow knit up in tight lines as she imagined the kind of life he'd had, and how often he would have had to get to the clubs to rack up such numbers. An endless string of empty contact.

"Were any of them – any of them at all -?"

"No. None of them. It was all just – momentary satisfaction – we all used one another. I hope – not too heartlessly."

"And the women?"

"Well, there were only a few. But why should the women be any different?" Sherlock shook his head at her, a little disappointed that she would think he might have had something more meaningful with someone because of her sex.

"No, you're right," Molly conceded, a little abashed, "no reason at all."

"No. And the women. Good lord to have sex with a woman. It took _days_, sometimes weeks to set it up. The date, the dinner, the second and third dates."

"Why do it at all?"

"Yes, _why_ - ? Oh. Yes, quite right. Well." Sherlock reflected on Molly's perfectly valid point. He thought about each of the three girls he knew at uni. All highly sought after, each one a bit of a challenge, each one in possession of a fairly brilliant mind, but ultimately each one, very predictable, very usual, very dull.

"I think of each of the three of them - ."

"Three?"

_Oh, god, have I let the cat out of the bag? Yes, yes I have._

"Um, yes. The three at uni. I suppose each of them - ."

"I thought you said four. Where was the fourth – from? Anyone I know?"

Sherlock looked deeply into Molly's eyes. Could she guess? He searched her face long and hard, then smiled.

"No. No one you know, love."

"But you paused and analyzed me for a long time -."

"Yes. Well, I suppose I'm only ready to relinquish one secret at a time. What about you? How many secrets will you give up this evening? Hmmhmm. I thought not. None? Not a single little secret? Oh, love. Well, I'll wait. We'll both wait. I hope you don't make us wait too long, though."

"I – I won't." Molly said a little ashamed. "So," she continued quickly, "Three at uni and one mystery lady."

"And more than 200 mystery lads. God, Molly, what's the difference? I'm a little surprised at you."

"Yes, of course, you're right. But I'd be just as interested in the mystery _man_, if the numbers were reversed."

Sherlock shrugged and rolled his eyes in accord with her and leaned to kiss her.

"It's nearly time." Sherlock observed the clock on the wall. "He's almost never late. Shall we?" Sherlock asked, and Molly's eyes twinkled with mischief. The pair rose from their comfortable arrangement in Sherlock's chair and threw off their dressing gowns. Naked, they faced one another and Sherlock touched Molly's hair, her shoulder.

"I'll never forget the day John had me wear that tie – and – that belt. (Aubergine Tie, J'sIfor3) Seems so long ago, now, but, not so very long ago, was it? You were breathtaking, Molly."

"So were you, love."

Sherlock slowly sat back down in his chair his eyes locked on Molly's, and Molly straddled him, gently rocking her hips against his, gently teasing his erection. When he was quite hard, she reached down and pressed the tip of him into herself, moaning and smiling as she lowered herself all the way down his shaft, embedding him deeply inside her. He rubbed his palms up and down her thighs and flanks. He cupped her breasts in her hands, wondering at their perfection, their smoothness. Molly leaned close and whispered to him.

"And when you were living with John, didn't you ever think - about him?"

"I – I would be lying if I said I didn't. But, ah, it was – honestly, it was his friendship – that was so – healing. I didn't know how alone I was until he came to me. And now I have you both."

They both turned their heads when they heard the street door slam.

"He's home," Molly kissed Sherlock, and lifted herself off him, turned around, and lowered herself back into his lap with her back to his chest, impaling herself on his cock again. She felt Sherlock spread his knees wide, and she slipped her own legs back over his, spreading herself completely open to the view of whomever came in through the front door. She leaned back, allowing Sherlock to press his hands into her breasts as the pair pulsed against one another, listening to the sound of John's steps as he ascended the stairs, as he opened the door, and as he stepped inside the flat at last.

_This is the first in a few chapters. Three or four. All about the chairs and secrets._

_Hope you like it._

_It sure would be good to hear from you._

_Even if you just want to say 'hi,'_

_But it would be lovely to hear what country you're from!_

_At least tell me your favorite legit authors, will you, please? _

_I like that terrible trio, McEwan, Amis & Rushdie. _

_They're quite wicked, aren't they? Wonderfully wicked._

_But you can remain totally anonymous if you'd prefer. _

_As I mentioned above – three or four chapters of this chair idea._

_Love, love, love and kisses and hugs. _

_And one last kiss._


End file.
